Shoes are not immortal

So my partner in crime Marcia and I are shopping at Peebles, a store that happily carries clothes in my size- which is to say, jumbo petite- when we happen upon a shoe sale. Buy one, get the second half price. I have just chosen three very nice outfits to take with me to the GFWC of Tennessee convention this weekend, so OF COURSE, my interest is piqued. Four pairs later, we leave the store.
My beloved husband likes to call me Imelda, suggesting, I think, that perhaps I have a bit of a thing about shoes. Well, frankly, I have a thing about many things. While it is true that things can't bring you true happiness, they don't exactly depress you, either. I am, by nature, an obsessive collector, and he seems to think that my "thing" about shoes is just another manifestation of that obsession. And, as per usual, he is wrong.
I am not obsessed with shoes, I just like having a nice selection. It has been my experience that most men are shoe deprived. They think if they have one black pair and one white pair, they are set. Most of the men I know have a three pair maximum- dressy, casual, tennies- and all three will be worn until they are held together by a single thread. Let a man spend a moderate amount of money on any piece of clothing, including shoes, and he will wear it/them long after they are stylish, the right size, or in fit condition to wear.
Women, on the other hand, and for the most part, seem to know that all things pass, including styles, and that nothing, including shoes, is immortal. I was simply conceding the frailty of life, the inevitability of mortality, and the changeable nature of the universe when I came home with four pairs of shoes. And I will look ever so cha-cha at the convention. Paint ALL your toenails, ladies, the sandal season it here!